Roles to Play
by TheCrazyViolst
Summary: When John and Paul form a secret relationship, they underestimate how difficult it is to keep up appearances. Schoolmates see them as mortal enemies. Family see them as mismatched friends. High school's hard enough, but when you add in a constant acting job it becomes nearly unbearable. Will they be able to keep up the facade? (MCLENNON) (BEATLES/ATU)


**A/N: Hi babies. :) **

**So it's been a while. Like a long while. **

**I'm sorry I keep saying I'm coming back, then post like three stories and not update. That's terrible of me. BUT NEVER FEAR. This time my bff Paperbackwriter318/PeaceLove&Beatles8 is going to nag me every day and tell me to update. Because she's just that awesome. **

**But yeah. I solemnly swear to never leave ya'll again. Because writing Beatles fanfics are seriously what make me happy. And I was at my happiest while writing them. So I'm back – hopefully for good.**

**Enjoy this. Please. I love you. **

**Also my baby sister says hi. But she's a Directioner, and no longer a Beatles freak. **

**Also I have a super big audition tonight (Yes, I still play viola) for another Youth Orch, but when I get home I'll either be writing more or reading the stories that I've missed in my absence. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles. **

Chapter One: A Day in the Life.

He stands over me. His usually warm eyes have turned dark. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, his lips nearly invisible. The traces of the boy – young man – I know is gone. All that's left is the shell hardened by pain, torment and insecurity.

He raises his fist again, and strikes my nose. I stumble back, falling to the ground. My head pounds. I delicately touch my face, and my hand instantly is covered in red blood. I'm not sure which cut is the source.

"John- " I start to say, hoping my voice can ease him back into sanity.

He kicks my leg forcefully. I yelp.

"Don't speak to me, queer," he spits. His "friends" laugh, as if he'd made a joke. Their laughter stings, but John's words hurt the most. "I might catch your fucking disease."

I open my mouth to muster a reply, but my face connects with his shoe. As I roll over, I try to make eye contact. The boy stares back at me, and I feel slightly better. For a second, he looks like the John I know.

I lay motionless for a moment as I regain my strength. My heart pounds inside my chest. I search my mind for something I can say or do to make him remember. I _need_ to make him remember. This isn't how it's supposed to go. I've seen boys get hospitalized after standing up to him. I don't want that to be me.

With my remaining strength, I push myself up onto my knees. John looks down at me; however, some of his goons left the scene. The show's over, or so I hope.

I keep eye contact with him as I stand. My knees wobble as I scramble for balance. "John, stop this." My voice sounds pathetic. Blood temporarily blurs my vision.

"No, Paul," John replies, his voice a tone deeper. "I can't."

I lean on the hood of my car for support. "Why, John? Why?"

"I can't deal with this anymore." He turns his back to me. "I can't deal with you anymore."

My anger festers inside of me. I fear I won't be able to contain it much longer. And I'm right. Within seconds, my fist collides with the back of John's head. I hear a crunch as it makes impact. The boy falls to the ground.

For a moment, I'm stunned. I can't believe what I just did, and who I did it to. I knocked out John Lennon – _my _Johnny. But once again, I'm blinded by my emotions. I kick him in the stomach hard, just like how he kicked me.

I glance back at his body on the pavement. He's breathing, but they're shallow. I lean over him, and prop him up against my tire. His nose bleeds a little, and a scratch runs down his cheek.

Thankfully, none of John's buddies hung around to finish me off. The last bell rang about ten minutes ago, and the majority of the student body is in class. I figure I have about five minutes to get out of here before the teachers hear of the incident with John.

Despite what has happened, I wipe my sleeve gently against his face. I clean away the blood, and fix his hair into the usual wannabe Elvis style. For just a second, I smile. He never thinks of himself as handsome, even though I often insist he is.

I scan for observers, and haul John to his feet. He's larger in weight, but I'm about an inch or two taller. He groans softly as I push him into the back seat of the car. He doesn't move or make any audible sounds as I strap him in. His head rolls back and forth on the head rest.

I slam the door, and hop behind the wheel. In about two minutes, I was off school grounds. John doesn't stir, just lays limply behind me. I feel sick knowing that I was the one to put him out. That wasn't according to plan.

As I get onto the main road, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Even though the plan was long strayed from, we successfully made it out of the school without detentions or suspensions.

"Babe?" John moans from behind me. "My head fucking hurts."

I sigh, and turn down the radio. I force myself not to smile, even though I'm extremely relieved that John's awake. "I'm sure it does."

"My nose is bleeding," John says. He reaches for his backpack, which rests in the passenger seat, and yanks out a towel. He presses it to his face, and slides down in his seat. "That was one hell of a fight."

"Yeah, it was," I agree. My entire body aches from my head to my toes. That _was_ an incredibly nasty fight. Usually nobody gets knocked out.

John tosses the bloody rag aside, then tugs our backpacks from the passenger seat. They land with a thump on the floor. "Pull over. I'm climbing up front."

He doesn't wait for me to respond, just hops over the front seat and settles next to me. He smiles smugly as I sharply veer to the right.

"Jesus fucking Christ, John," I exclaim. "I nearly had a fucking accident!" I struggle to regain control of the car, mumbling a string of curses under my breath.

John nonchalantly bites at his nails. "You finished?"

"Yes," I grumble as I slow down at a light. "Don't do that again."

He smirks, and places his hand on my leg. "So things didn't go like we planned. You fucking knocked me out."

"Yeah, sorry," I reply, turning into my neighborhood. "The opportunity presented itself and I took it."

John squeezed my thigh, redirecting his frustration elsewhere. "You're lucky nobody saw. Or you'd be bleeding out in the parking lot."

I roll my eyes. He's all talk and no walk. "Mhm, okay."

"I mean it, Paul," John sternly says. He removes his hand, and crosses his arms across his chest. "We can't have you being the rough badboy. That's my job. People will get suspicious if suddenly I'm the one with the broken nose. We can't risk somebody finding out."

"I know, John," I retort. We've had this talk a million times. I know I'm the pathetic, wimpy queer while he's the tough, arrogant badarse. We've played these roles for a year. I know my character inside out. Paul McCartney, the quiet know it all, has a secret crush on John Lennon, the popular badboy. John doesn't return the feelings, and Paul is subject to daily insults and harassment. That's how it goes; we're used to it.

It's all to hide the truth. In fact, I don't even think the dumb idiots at school would believe it if we did come out. About a year ago, John kissed me in the empty locker room after gym. From that moment on, we were bound to each other. There wasn't a spoken "Hey, let's be boyfriends", but just reoccurring snogs here and there over a couple months. It wasn't until May that we acknowledged our situation. From then on, we snuck around under the world's noses. Neither Mimi nor my father know about us. For them, our roles are Paul McCartney, the loyal and too-trusting friend and John Lennon, the bad influence.

My phone beeps, the shrill bell suddenly hurts my ears. "Can you get that?" I ask John.

He nods, and reaches for it. "It's from Beatrice. She wants to know if you're okay and if you'll be at school later. She apparently wants to snog." John tosses the phone into the cup holder. "You're not answering her."

That's another part I play. Beatrice is my faux-girlfriend. John has own too. Actually, he has three. It makes me sick having to kiss someone that isn't John, but it's necessary. People can't actually think I'm queer. They might start talking. John's lovers are more of one-night-stands. He shags them, then drops them for another a week or two later. It's disgusting knowing that I'm not the only person he's intimate with, but once again, it's necessary.

We ride in silence for a handful of minutes. John's arms remain crossed, and he stares absent-mindedly out of the window. I reach over for his hand.

"I love you," I quietly say.

Without missing a beat, John replies. "I love you too, Paulie, but right now I just want a damn nap."


End file.
